


Watching the Storm Roll In

by nuricurry



Category: Saint Seiya
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 16:39:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4712948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuricurry/pseuds/nuricurry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn’t like the idea of children suffering, he didn’t enjoy being the one that had to put them through Hell and back in order to earn a cloth that in many ways was just another death sentence. But that was his job, and with each new addition he was reminded that it wouldn't stop even if he did try to quit. Albiore-centric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watching the Storm Roll In

**Author's Note:**

> Done for the 2013 Saint Seiya Secret Santa.

There was only one way on and off the island, and it only happened once a week, if the weather permitted. The boat that came in from the mainland never had much on it, only a few basic supplies, just enough to keep them going until the next shipment, and, from time to time, another handful of children that he found himself responsible for. There was always three or four or more each time new trainees were sent his way, they never came in less than that, except for one time. He had been told that his assignment hadn’t been arranged by Sanctuary; it was someone else who had placed the boy on the next boat bound for Andromeda Island, not even paying a proper fare, just telling the crew to keep him down in the hull with the crates of fruit and pens of livestock.

The first impression the boy made was stepping off the ship and immediately becoming sick, leaning over the edge of the dock and being violently ill into the crashing waves below. There was nothing Albiore could do but wait, standing idly by until the boy’s stomach settled and his face lost some of that sickly green color. When asked his name, he muttered only a soft, “S-Shun,” in reply, ducking down his head and seemingly doing his best to disappear. Already, he was off to a poor start, it seemed. He didn’t have a bag, or personal affects of any kind– not that he could have used them, since once trainees arrived they were forced to give up anything they brought with– other than a necklace that Albiore decided to let him keep. It wasn’t an emotional decision, or a response to the desperate way the boy clung to the chain like it was all he had to keep him grounded to the earth, but because unlike clothes or supplies, he couldn’t share that among the group of children under his watch. It was just a trinket, simple as that, and had no use here, on an island that had eaten up and spit out plenty of kids just like him within a week’s time. He wasn’t going to last, he thought, and at least that way he could die with some level of peace.

He didn’t like the idea of children suffering, he didn’t enjoy being the one they looked to in order to blame when their lives were difficult and they couldn’t find a way out. He simply had no choice in the matter, it wasn’t something he had decided on his own. Just as they had woken up one day and found the course of their lives had been decided for him, so had he, for much longer than any of them could imagine. He had started in that same position, alone, dragged away from home by force to do something he wasn’t even sure he wanted to, all because there was no one there to fight for him. Just as they had been, he was an orphan that was kicked off to Sanctuary to be made ‘useful’, told that since he had no one to take care of him he needed to learn to take care of himself. Being ordered around didn’t stop after he became a saint, no, in reality, that had just been the beginning. If he knew that once he started, he couldn’t stop, maybe he would have run away like so many of his own students tried to do, like he had seen other kids his age doing when he was fighting for a chance to wear his own cloth. He had done what he was supposed to do, he had fought his way to the top and had earned one of the coveted armors, he could take care of himself now, and he thought that meant it was the end, that from here on out, he could make choices of his own. It was a naive thought. He had barely been wearing his cloth a month before he was given an assignment, 'promoted’ from grunt to instructor, given a fancy title and some meaningless praise then forced once again to leave, this time from Sanctuary, and go on to Andromeda island, where the next stage of his chosen destiny awaited him.

The first year of that hell had been the hardest. He didn’t know what he was doing, because no one had ever taught him how to teach, just to fight, and so he almost lost more students than he gained, the ones leftover from the previous trainer there having decided to leave the island as soon as they could once they saw he was as lost as they were. He became too attached to the kids that came through, something his teacher had never done and objectively he knew he shouldn’t be doing either. But it was hard not to, when he had to see them every day, when they came to him with cuts and bruises and asked him for help mastering their technique. There were some that shined and some that faded, and those were always the hardest, because when they eventually died, there was hardly any difference between them and the dirt they ended up having to bury them in.

It didn’t get easier the next year, or the year after that, but at least by the time he had been there long enough to stop trying to count, he learned to swallow down the pain better.

He had been sure Shun would be one of the ones that faded. That first impression of him was hard to shake, and it didn’t get much better as the weeks wore on. He was an easy target for the others more confident than he was, a victim of bullying that even Albiore’s intervention wasn’t going to stop. He could break apart a fight each time he saw one start, but he wasn’t always going to be there, and eventually, those kids weren’t always going to stop when he told them. Harsh as it might be, he thought that maybe it would teach Shun to stand up for himself, a lesson that every saint needed to learn. But each time they pushed him down, Shun stayed there, and each blow they gave to one cheek he turned to let them hit the other. It was only a matter of time before eventually, he’d die out, just like the others who had been quiet and soft like him had before.

That’s why it surprised him the day he felt something spark when Shun was pushed into the dirt. From somewhere inside him, Albiore felt that burst of power that he honestly doubted existed for Shun, an experience like seeing lighting strike for the first time. But, unlike lightning, the thunder never came afterwards. He had even waited, watching from the sidelines to see if it would come back as Leda tried to kick Shun while he was down, but nothing came. Eventually, he intervened again, pulling the older boy off by the back of his shirt before sending him off to practice with someone else, the whole time looking down at Shun as if by some miracle staring at him long enough would make that power ignite again. Instead, he only got a few hiccups and Shun wiping his nose on his sleeve, a familiar sight that was almost enough to make him think that maybe it had all been in his head.

But he was sure it wasn’t. Reaching down, he offered the boy a hand, and Shun took it, using it to hoist himself up onto his feet. “You’ve got something you want, don’t you?” Albiore asked him straight out, causing Shun’s eyes to widen. He knew there had to be something, a boy who didn’t fight back didn’t survive on an island like this for over a month, let alone six as Shun had. Biting his lip, the boy nodded, and opened his mouth to elaborate. But before he did, Albiore stopped him, putting a hand up before he could speak. “Then you have to earn it. Getting knocked down over and over isn’t going to get you anywhere,” he told him frankly, causing Shun’s eyes to widen, “If you want to leave this island, instead of just surviving it, then start paying attention.” Once again, Shun nodded his head, wisely saying nothing along with it, simply giving that gesture of agreement that spoke more volumes than his voice would have at that moment. “Good,” he gave his own curt nod, before putting a hand on Shun’s smaller shoulder to push him back towards where the other trainees had gathered. Needing no further prompting, Shun did as he was told, jogging off to some other boys were sparring, joining the group each waiting their turn.

Silently, he had mused to himself that maybe, if he could find it in him to keep going, there was a chance that he would prove to shine a bit after all.

It was strange to him how time changed some things but not others. At least, it was strange to him how he had thought things would change but instead it was something else that ended up becoming different in the end. It had taken four years and the loss and gain of countless other students by the time he felt ready enough to advance their training. He had put in a special order to Sanctuary once his mind was made up, because it had never happened before that more than a handful of kids survived the island long enough to move on to the next part. If he hadn’t watched so many fall on the path to that point, maybe he would have been a little more proud. Instead, he had to accept the fact that he needed over a dozen new sets of training weapons to prepare only less than five to succeed. It didn’t matter how he felt about it, in the end, because Athena only needed a certain number of saints, and he supposed it was always better to prepare a few spares. That’s how the island had changed him now, instead of prospects and children, he thought of people as spares. Replacements for the ones that would end up breaking, a back up plan so there would always be someone around to keep the tradition going. He was certain that he had a spare waiting for him to die back at Sanctuary just the same. How twisted that was, how hypocritical, when all he had been preached was Athena’s mercy from the day he started, and now, all he could see instead was the hollow lies that were a farce for the Pope’s cruelty.

The irony wasn’t lost on him, when the crates arrived and he pulled out a set of chains for each child that had been left under his care. It was like the people who made this world they were living in weren’t even trying to be subtle, instead they wrote everything out in plain, black letters: you’re not getting out of this. He might as well tie each of the kids to the rocks himself, and let the sea beat against them until the end, because that was what their lives would lead up to anyway (Even for him, he knew that was a morbid thought).

“Get used to them like it’s a part of your body,” he said as he handed coil after coil out. There was an immediate division between the children gathered around him, each falling into one of two groups. There were those that immediately began to practice, toying with the metal links as if they were some sort of archaic, twisted new toy. Then there were the ones who hesitated, who told them with their wide eyes and slumped shoulders that they didn’t think they were ready for this. He wished he could have given them a choice.

It was Spica who was the first causality, a chain thrown too far twisting around his neck and dragging him down hard onto the ground. In a second, the ones Albiore held dropped back into the box, quickly forgotten as he ran forward and quickly unwound the chain from around the boy’s throat. He coughed and whimpered, but at least he breathed, and Albiore threw it back to the one who was holding it, the child having gone still in shock.

“Be careful!” he chastised, the first of many times he was sure he was going to say that phrase, “Until you know how to use it, don’t let it out of your hand for a moment!” It was only once they knew how to accept the responsibility that came from using a weapon could he in good conscious give them permission to do it. It might seem strange for him to put the cart before the horse, but sometimes, that was the best way for them to learn. Only after feeling power and destruction for yourself could you understand what truly fearsome things they were, not at all something children should be so ready to use against each other.

If he only taught them one thing here that ended up sticking, he hoped at least it would be that.

Everyone had their strengths and weaknesses, it was a natural part of life. Some had their strengths in their strength, in their speed, things that were a product of years upon years of hard work and training. June’s strength had always lied with her wit. She was one of the smartest students he had come to him for training, quick to learn and easy to teach. She was the sort who only needed a single demonstration in order to pick up how something was done, while others around her needed him to walk them through each step. She would have been much better suited for someplace that could appreciate that intelligence, where even if she excelled in technique, anyone who had more force could be her equal. He didn’t need to teach her how to be strong, but to teach her how to be cunning, to outwit even the most powerful opponent that she would undoubtedly have to face. She had been one of those who had hesitated when he gave her the chains she would have to work with, but as he quickly found out, it wasn’t because she was afraid– it was because she was much better suited for something else.

The key to using a long weapon was learning how to make it move the way you wanted it to move. Most of his lessons focused on control, not power, because it didn’t matter how hard something was thrown, if it couldn’t be sent where it needed to go. That had never been June’s problem. When the others were twirling their chains above their heads and trying to swing them in order to hit their target, June had already mastered hitting her mark. It wasn’t a wide reach that she aimed for, but precision; instead of throwing, she snapped the chains out hard and fast, able to manipulate their path as she wished. She used them less like a rope, and more like a whip, and he knew that was where her talent lay. Just as she was with everything else, it was her mind that made the first move, not her hands, and he could see in the way her breathing shifted, her knees bent and she tensed certain muscles in certain places, that it wasn’t a fluke of luck that got her to snap her wrist at just the right angle, and her hand to hold the base in place, while the length moved without her need for constant control. As far as cunning went, her mind was built for sainthood. Her heart, on the other hand, was a different matter.

He wasn’t blind, he could see infatuation clearly even if he wasn’t necessarily familiar with it himself. Even someone who had never felt the emotion for themselves could tell what it was, obvious from the way she never seemed to be looking much farther than where Shun stood. It was always she that was the first to run to his side when he found himself in a fight he wasn’t going to win, his name was the only one she was willing to cry out for in encouragement when it was time for him to face another opponent. Were her heart less smitten, and her eyes trained forward instead of where Shun lagged behind, he doubted she would have still been on the island as long as she was. For every step she could have taken towards the end of her training, she held back two, matching her pace with another’s, waiting for when they could finally walk alongside one another at the same time. What could have taken her only five years instead took her eight, and even then, she still waited until she was certain of him first.

It was a long time after the first incident that he finally was given the chance to feel that spark again. If he was honest, there had been some days when he was sure it had long since disappeared. It was only his faith that maybe, just maybe it hadn’t that had made him call Shun’s name that day, to face him off against someone who shone, almost enough to overpower the way that Shun flickered. He had never exploded the way the others had, he had only kept his head above the surface of the water long enough to keep up with the rest. Albiore had seen the question in his eyes when he ordered him forward, the uncertainty in everything, himself, his teacher, the very way the earth moved beneath his feet, but there was no turning back, and it was time for him to decide; would he shine, or fade?

Albiore knew the answer the moment he was able to see lightning strike twice.


End file.
